


Jaebum's Theory of Everything

by pepijr



Category: GOT7
Genre: Coach Jaebum, M/M, Other AUs sprinkled here and there, Professor Jinyoung, eventual smut ofc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepijr/pseuds/pepijr
Summary: After finding old tapes, Jinyoung embarks on a journey of self-discovery.* *A continuation ofJaebum's Color TheoryandMeet the Parents.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i really just be writing things alksdf 
> 
> find me on twitter @ jjpsbf

Jinyoung doesn't do karaoke.

It's not a rule he says out loud, or even writes down, or even mentions. Dating Jaebum, it has come up three times: once, when they were figuring out where they should go on a date, back when Jinyoung wasn't tenured and still embarrassed at his attraction to Jaebum — a juvenile desire at best, Jaebum suggested going to karaoke and Jinyoung could not have said 'no' fast enough; the second time was on their eleventh date when they'd gone to a bar's karaoke night and Jaebum had whined about wanting to try it out and how nice doing a song as a couple would be but Jinyoung, still not sure of where their relationship was headed, still ignoring every sigh of his heart, had refused until Jaebum had gone up and done the duet himself, doing different voices for both parts. 

The third time comes up now as they celebrate Jaebum's thirty-second birthday and, at Jaebum's request, their main form of entertainment is an old karaoke machine they rented for the occasion. Jinyoung declines three invitations from Jaebum to sing, first by himself, then together, then as a whole group, before Jaebum stops asking. Jinyoung claims that it's more fun to watch others prance around belt out emotional covers of their favorite ballads. It is more fun to sit and observe, to clap enthusiastically, to be the audience they perform to.

And it's partly true: Jaebum is enigmatic even when he sings off-key, his voice loud, filling up the room like an excited child. His range of music, too, is incredible; after a dinner of pizza and garlic knots served on paper plates in the shape of a lion, he sings an emotive version of 'Baby Shark' not with Hyunjin, but with Jackson — Hyunjin stands in front of them swinging his arms and tiny fists like the song demands, mirroring the dance Jackson and Jaebum do by heart, looking like a small, stressed out coach watching his team perform; then a few songs after, Jaebum and Jackson return to their temporary stage to do a soulful rendition of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' complete with heartbroken facial expressions, with Jaebum wailing at Jackson's back until Jackson turns around dramatically, his cheeks wet and glistening with tears; even alone, Jaebum commands everyone's attention, singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' while trying to do every single voice on his own. It's never stage presence that Jaebum lacks, just talent, ability: he sings like a rookie batter at his first baseball game, swinging heartily at every note but never hitting any.

Still, every time he bows after a performance, Jinyoung looks down at his hand where the thin engagement ring is wrapped around his finger, as if reminding himself that, yes, it wasn't a dream and Jaebum, the man who brightens the room up with his laughter, is his.

Everyone sings at least once: Jaebum's sister with her round and bulging pregnant stomach sings 'My Humps' while her husband provides the male vocals; Mark performs 'Toxic' like he were being scored, robotic and tense, though Jackson still throws himself on the ground and waves his arms up and down, praising to him like a god; Hyunjin performs the theme song to Moana before falling asleep in his dad's lap; Jackson restarts 'September' six times until he hits the initial note and everyone else, relieved that Jackson won't be restarting it, gives him a standing ovation.

Only Jinyoung doesn't sing, prefers to sit instead, claps after every song, listens to every singer. He only stands to disappear into the kitchen and come back with a chocolate cake stabbed by two candles in the shape of a '3.' They gather around the table, Hyunjin still snoring on the couch, and they sing 'Happy Birthday' in unison to Jaebum who's put on a paper birthday hat and who looks as happy as a child. Then he leans forward and blows out the candles, and everyone takes turns giving him a hug, wishing him the best.

Even Jaebum's mother calls and interrupts his argument with Jackson over whether the baby's kick in his sister's stomach means he'll be a goalie or an offensive player in soccer. Jaebum presses the phone against his ear, wears that smile again: somewhat shy, like a light close to turning off. He turns around just once to tell everyone that his mother says hi, then disappears into the hall, heads towards their bedroom.

It's already late as it is, but when Jaebum shows no sign of returning, their guests start to head out. Jaebum's sister leaves slowly, smiles in Jinyoung's direction, thanks him for throwing the party for Jaebum. Her husband follows close behind, a sleeping Hyunjin in his arms. Then Jackson and Mark leave together, not home, as Jackson lets him know, but to continue their adventure in honor of Jaebum.

Once they're gone, Jinyoung turns off the TV, then the lights, then walks down the hallway himself to his bedroom. Jaebum is there, curled on the edge of the bed, and Jinyoung walks to him. There's enough space to sit down at the end, and he does. Jaebum opens his eyes, smiles lazily.

"Are they gone?" he asks.

"Yeah, they told me to say goodnight," Jinyoung answers, then busies himself with pushing Jaebum's hair back, uncovering his wide forehead, "How's your grandpa?"

"He said he's okay. Mom said hi."

"I'm glad to hear that," Jinyoung whispers and with his finger, he traces the shape of Jaebum's eyebrows, then strokes his cheek. Then, just as quietly, he asks, "Did you have fun?"

Jaebum closes his eyes again and nods, slowly, as if he's just a breath away from sleeping. He's tired, Jinyoung thinks, and has good reason. He'd woken up early to bake a lasagna for his own birthday, but then Jinyoung had smelled smoke, and in the kitchen he'd found a burnt baking sheet and Jaebum's hands covered in tomato sauce, his chef's hat sliding off his head. Then Jaebum had been stressed out about what to wear, unsure if a man turning thirty-three should wear his hair up or down, a black shirt or a red shirt, jeans or slacks.

"Can you get me my notebook?" Jaebum asks, "I want to jot it down."

"Is it in the other room?"

"Yeah, by the bed."

Jinyoung stands to leave but Jaebum makes a sound, almost like humming. Jinyoung turns and Jaebum has a single eye open.

"Aren't you going to give me a birthday kiss?"

Jinyoung notices how small Jaebum really is when he's curled up: tiny hips, a narrow waist, broad shoulders and toned arms and thick thighs, large but folded so neatly that the image tugs at Jinyoung's heart. This is his fiance, he thinks, an overgrown child.

"When I come back, I'll give you more than a birthday kiss."

Jaebum cocks up an eyebrow, "Are we gonna do it?"

"We are definitely going to do it," Jinyoung says, smiling now, feeling reckless — something he thought he couldn't feel anymore, not as of late, "Maybe more than once."

"God," Jaebum groans, "I'm so turned on, babe. Will you call me daddy?"

Jinyoung fights the urge to roll his eyes, but he nods, "It's your birthday, we can do whatever you want."

"I'm gonna play your ass like bongo drums, babe, and then I'm gonna eat you out for hours — oh, and then I'm going to try this move I've been thinking about, it's called 'the torpedo' and I have to hold your hands and stretch your arms and it kind of looks like a ship — then maybe just a BJ and some finger-blasting — babe, you have to use just your middle finger, though, so you can really get in there and —"

"Okay, okay," Jinyoung says, overwhelmed and flushed, the front of his pants already tight, "Let me get your notebook and I'll be right back."

Jaebum sighs, "You are so perfect, I can't believe I get to bone you."

This time Jinyoung rolls his eyes, though he can't deny the flutters at the base of his stomach, like an engine starting, sputtering out hot air, warming up with every second. But as he turns around to leave the room, just as he walks past the door, he hears Jaebum start to snore. Still, in hopes that he might just be taking a nap, he walks down the dark hall, heads towards the guest bedroom.

It's been six months since they'd cancelled their big move, but he still has to be careful to dodge the boxes in the hallway. Neither of them had the energy to take things out of them, and neither had the energy to confront the question that would remain after: would they stay? Would they go? Is this cramped little house big enough to hold their future? Jinyoung steps into the guest room, flicks on the light. Even this space is cluttered boxes in the corner, though here they are less full, more scattered. Here is where Jaebum sleeps most nights, and his presence lingers in the stack of DVDs by the TV, in the dirty cup on the nightstand, in the unmade bed, the torn box spilling old clothes in the closet and the journal by the pillow.

He stands at the doorway and scans the room. Still, after six months, he can't help the tiny jolt of sadness that runs through his chest. He still remembers coming home, unaware of the budgeting problems at the university, the loss of funding, the decline in attendance. He remembers walking through the door, unaware that the athletics budget had been cut in half, that the number of people suddenly laid off outnumbered the people who stayed.

He remembers a wailing swimming through the house, slithering into his ears like a snake. He couldn't recognize it, not immediately, because it sounded like Jaebum, had his volume, his sound, but it was nothing he'd ever heard before. He walked down the hallway, poked his head in their room where Jaebum was on the ground, his shoulders trembling, his entire body shaking along with every sob.

Jaebum cries at the end of every Pixar movie without fail, cries reading fake stories about rescue dogs remembering their owners after years, cries when his favorite soccer team loses. He cries each time he finds out that another species of animals can be gay, cries when babies are born, when they're lost, and Jinyoung had witnessed most of these events, sometimes twice, but nothing prepared him for Jaebum sobbing.

He touched his shoulder and Jaebum had turned around, his entire face twisted, red, wet and crumpled in sorrow, like an infant whose entire body is swallowed by a single emotion. Jaebum is that way, too: one-track minded, simple, grappling with one emotion entirely before moving on to the next — crying for an hour after a movie before, like a light flickering on, moving on to the joy of eating food. Jinyoung thought it would be the same this time around, that Jaebum would cry for a few minutes, then stand up, dust off his jeans and shirt, put on his smile, move on to the next adventure but Jaebum had cried for an entire hour before his tears had run out, before he'd been so exhausted that he'd lied down to sleep right there, on the floor, not even bothering to stand up. Jinyoung had been there with him, sitting on the floor, holding his arms, his shoulders, pulling him into countless hugs, rubbing his head, stroking his hair, pressing an infinite string of kisses to every part of his body that was exposed to him. It scared Jinyoung to see his fiance, the most cheerful person he'd ever known, look so defeated, so sad. But what scared him the most is that despite his presence, despite trying to help the man he loved, Jaebum remained broken.

Then Jaebum had woken up and told Jinyoung everything, apologized countless times as if he had a reason to apologize but Jinyoung shook his head, stroked his cheek, did not stand up from the floor until Jaebum understood that none of it was his fault. They would cancel their move into a bigger house. They would adjust their budget. They would survive, together.

He can still hear Jaebum snoring from their room so Jinyoung steps into the guest room, sits on the edge of the bed, pulls the journal towards him. Although their house is still a mess, Jaebum had done a good job of cleaning.

Three days ago, after countless ventures into different careers, Jaebum had tried his hand at running a daycare in their home. He'd assured Jinyoung everything would go smooth, especially since Jackson had quit his job in support of Jaebum, and they had both been ready to break into the market. Jinyoung had, stupidly, believed him.

While Jinyoung stressed in his office at work over the upcoming conference in the summer, having to face both pressure from his peers — Mark and Youngjae included — and Dr. Hwang, who'd taken to calling him a 'sui generis' member of the department, Jaebum had been at home facing his own carnival parade of stress. Jinyoung had knocked on the door, having forgotten his key, and Hyunjin had answered the door. Out spilled the sound of commotion, the tinkle of mischief. 

"Where's Jaebum?" he'd asked, worried, his stomach twisting into a knot and Hyunjin had half-smiled, half-frowned.

"He's sleeping."

"Sleeping — what do you mean?!"

Jinyoung stepped inside and saw two children ripping a box open, a collection of papers spilling across the floor.

"They were playing with us but then we all took a nap and they didn't wake up, only the kids."

There was screaming coming in from their rooms, clanging from the kitchen, and the two kids that had ripped open the box — one of many, it seemed — had started to wrestle on top of papers. Jinyoung watched their tangled bodies kicking and flailing, ripping each paper beneath them each time one of them got the upper hand and flipped the other over. Stray kids ran in from the backyard, and Jinyoung felt panic tighten his neck until he couldn't breathe, until he'd gasped and Hyunjin had wrapped his tiny arms around his middle and punched his stomach, as if he'd been choking.

It took two hours to get the children under control and clean and ready for their parents to arrive and for Jackson and Jaebum, their hair sticking up in odd directions from sleep, to explain to Jinyoung exactly what happened. Then Jackson had left with the last of the kids, and Jinyoung had helped Jaebum back into their room.

To his surprise, he wasn't mad, just relieved that nothing had been lost or broken. That no kids had been hurt. That their biggest problem, now, was the messy house and broken boxes and stray toys hiding in every corner of every room. Jinyoung was more relieved, though, that Jaebum looked tired and that he'd curled up on their bed, fell asleep the instant Jinyoung had rubbed his shoulder.

After all, it had been so long since Jinyoung had seen Jaebum sleep so peacefully. Ever since he'd been fired, Jaebum had trouble sleeping at night, always shifting from one side to the other, stretching wide, curling up into a tiny ball, stealing all the covers from Jinyoung then covering Jinyoung carefully when he noticed what he'd done, always waking Jinyoung in the process. Slowly, they had both stopped sleeping. Jinyoung became grumpier each day, snappier, more dependent on coffee and Jaebum, realizing what he'd been causing, had taken to sleeping in the guest room. Or, as of late, staying up at night watching movies until he was exhausted enough to sleep.

Jinyoung had not fought him on his decision, was actually thankful that he could sleep again, but he feels guilty now, looking around the room, the tired white walls. Back in their own bedroom, their roof is covered in glow-in-the-dark stickers and their shelves are full of books and action figurines and proof of Jaebum and Jinyoung's lives mingling, coexisting. But here in the guest room everything looks tired, worn out, plain and generic — entirely anonymous. The only personality the room has is the boxes that fill it, and even these make it feel less permanent; as if not a room at all; not a place to live in. It makes him think of what Jaebum said a month into his fruitless job search, a week before he'd started tracking his moods into his journal: "It feels like there's a party going on somewhere and I can't be part of it. But I can hear the music and I know who's there and it looks so fun, and it feels like I belong, but I just can't get to it. It feels like I never will."

He makes a note to himself to make this room feel more like home, like the party Jaebum wishes for, though he still doesn't know what to make of that analogy. He still isn't sure what Jaebum means.

Thinking of this, he pulls the journal into his lap. For once, the cover had been a plain blue color, but Jaebum had covered it in Star-Wars stickers he'd stolen from Hyunjin. He runs his fingers over the cover, feels every sticker's ridge under his touch. Then, without thinking much, he opens it to a random page.

A single sentence stares back at him: _I am sad._

He figures that this is Jaebum's ideas of tracking moods. There is no date, but there doesn't need to be. Jaebum is simple this way, or so he thinks until he turns the page and he's faced with something more complex. Jaebum has listed every single reason why he's sad, and at first Jinyoung is amazed since he can't even tell what mood he's feeling, but Jaebum, so in touch with himself, so sure of who he is, knows exactly what he feels and why. He scans through it quickly, turns the page and finds another single sentence: _I am very sad_. And then, just as before, the next page is a list, more detailed than the last.

The listed reasons range from " _I don't have a job_ " to " _Jinyoung deserves better_ " to " _I feel too drowsy to do anything_." Every reason makes Jinyoung's chest feel that much more tight, and his mouth feels dry. Every reason is another revelation that punctures his heart, that makes him wonder if he'd made himself available enough for Jaebum to open up to him. Sure, he'd been supportive, had held Jaebum's hand whenever he could, had kissed him good night as much as possible. He'd taken him out to distract him, had invited him to movies, had even spent time watching soccer with him, but now, as he reads that Jaebum is suffering because they had to cancel their vacation and because he can't help pay for his grandfather's treatment, everything he's done feels cosmetic. Like trying to heal an open wound with a prayer.

He turns the page again and instead of a mood, Jaebum has made a list of goals, though this one is small. Under short-term he's written: _find a job, win my next match, see Grandpa more, marry Jinyoung_. He wonders about each one, pictures Jaebum bent over the desk, struggling to come up with the next thing, his future no longer stretching past the next day. On the sides of the list and under it he sees countless pen marks, as if each had been a false start, as if a goal had dangled itself in front of Jaebum but he'd been unable to catch it. Then he reads the long-term goals, and these finally break his heart: _keep a job, have a baby with Jinyoung, be happy, ???_.

Jinyoung closes the notebook and remembers to breathe again. He looks around the room, tries to distract himself from what he'd just read so he doesn't cry but Jaebum's still snoring and the sound — still so lovely and warm and unabashedly himself — flutters into the room like offbeat music. Jinyoung listens for what feels like hours before he calms down, finds his center, steadies himself as he stands. His heart feels heavier now, much guiltier than before. He can't help but think of Jaebum's smile: it had not disappeared from one day to the next, but it had shrunk, like the moon going through its phases, thinning as the days went on, going from full to not there at all. Jinyoung, in his selfishness, hadn't seen it disappear; he'd been too distracted to look up, too busy to notice how it was folding into itself, smaller each time; he'd only noticed long after it had dimmed, when he glanced up and found it gone.

His fingers tremble, his knees feel weak, and rather than walk back to their room, he stays in the guest room. He looks around — maybe he can watch a movie to calm down, maybe he can have his own glimpse into Jaebum's life to be a bigger help. Tomorrow he'll figure out a plan, he thinks. Tomorrow he will talk to Mark, to Youngjae, to his mother, to his father, to every person that knew how to deal with things better than himself. He would talk to people whose hearts weren't clumsy, who knew themselves, what they wanted, who they were. Then he would help Jaebum as much as he could.

These thoughts, though, are a temporary comfort. There is something much bigger that he has to face — that they both have to face. Jaebum doesn't ignore his problems, but Jinyoung does. He wonders how much he's hidden from himself and how many pages full of reasons to be sad have been shoved under beds, filed into boxes, neat and out of sight.

The more he looks around, the more he notices that things aren't as they seem: the boxes are not full, of course, but Jaebum has set each item out carefully, as if organizing them. By the TV, there are two stacks, one of DVDs and the other, hidden behind it, of VHS tapes Jinyoung forgot they had. He hadn't even realized that they had a VHS player hooked up to the TV until he does, realizes that Jaebum must have been watching both. He stands up and steps over, notices that none of the VHS tapes have been labeled.

Maybe that's what Jaebum was doing most nights, he thinks, categorizing their old films, trying to find an order where there was none, relishing in this small act of control over his life.

Jinyoung thinks he will do the same, and he picks one up from the top of the stack, turns on the TV, inserts the tape.

He doesn't know what to expect, but he doesn't expect to see this: Hyunjin on the screen staring back at him. But then the camera shifts and comes into focus and Hyunjin turns into Jaebum, though it isn't the Jaebum he knows, but Jaebum as a child. His face is rounder, fuller, less defined. The camera must be on the ground because Jaebum scoots back, laying down, wearing what looks like a red jumpsuit. Beside him is Jackson as a child, eating chips from a paper plate.

"Is it on?" Jackson asks and Jaebum nods. They both wave, smile, but say nothing. Then, after some silence, Jackson asks, "What are we supposed to say?"

"I'm not sure — maybe something funny." Jaebum shrugs and Jackson goes back to grinning in between bites, then Jaebum takes some and starts eating, too. They're both laying on their stomachs on the ground, both resting their chins on their hands, their elbows against the floor.

Jackson waves, says, "I'm Jackson."

Jaebum does the same, "I'm Jaebum. We're best friends."

And, as if to prove his point, Jaebum leans over and kisses Jackson's cheek, which makes them both giggle and snort, as if it were the funniest thing to happen to them.

"When we grow up, we're going to be Power Rangers," Jackson says, "And I'm going to be the black power ranger."

"I'm going to be the red one," Jaebum says, "And we're going to marry other best friends so that we can all be power rangers together."

"I'm going to marry the pink one."

"I'm going to marry the blue one."

"Why the blue one?" Jackson says, turns to look at Jaebum, confused, his cheeks rounded and full with chips.

"Because," Jaebum says, pauses to eat some chips himself, "That's my favorite color."

They both look at each other, and from one second to the next, they start to laugh, large lovely sounds that spill out from the TV, make Jinyoung feel warm, too. They laugh like nothing in the world could be funnier, they laugh as if they will never stop laughing, as if they will always be children, always racing towards a future just out of their reach. Then Jaebum starts to cough between laughs and Jackson pats his back, then starts screaming and Jaebum's mother comes into the frame, though Jinyoung can only assume. He only sees the bottom of her legs racing towards Jaebum turning red, choking but somehow still laughing, smiling wide, showing his tiny teeth and the gaps where they've fallen out. The video turns black with a click.

Jinyoung isn't sure of what he feels, some mixture of nostalgia, of joy and sadness. His heart is racing, his breaths light, so, instead of grappling with the feeling, he takes the tape out and inserts another one.

This video is of him as a child on stage, far away, holding a certificate in his hands. He holds a medal, too. He stands beside a podium where his elementary school teacher is listing off his achievements. Then the video cuts to him at a fast food restaurant, a tiny meal in front of him: a tiny burger, a tiny drink, tiny fries, and a tiny toy still wrapped in plastic off to the side. Around Jinyoung's neck is a medal. Children scream behind him and every time they laugh, Jinyoung looks uncomfortable. He has full cheeks, a bored gaze. From behind the camera, his father speaks.

"Tell us why you got the medal, Jinyoung."

"I'm top of my class," Jinyoung says, then takes his drink and sips on it, "I got the best test scores."

"We are so proud of you, honey," his mother says and child Jinyoung smiles, shyly. He puts the drink down and covers his cheeks and adult Jinyoung watches himself as a child start to blush, his cheeks flushed with color, his ears reddening. Then the camera tilts and the video ends.

Jinyoung, this time is breathless, completely immersed in the videos. He takes the next one on the stack, slides that one in, keeps replacing them as they end.

One video is of Jaebum's sister's birthday, and Jinyoung watches her, at fifteen, cut into her cake with a laugh. Jaebum's mother lingers behind her, looking much younger than she is now, though more stressed. Then the camera moves around the party, lingers over faces Jinyoung has never seen, faces without a name, all of them happy, smiling, in the middle of laughter of conversation. Then the camera finds Jaebum in the corner, smiling.

"Hey, Jaebum," his grandfather says, off-camera, "What do you think of the party?"

"I love parties," Jaebum says, loud, colorful. He wears blue overalls over a red shirt, a tiny round hat.

"Your sister is fifteen, she's getting old."

Jaebum laughs and shakes his head, "My sister isn't old. She's so pretty — the prettiest girl in the world."

He lifts his arms up as if to emphasize the world, as if the world, to him, were only as big as his arms could reach.

Another video is of Jinyoung again, this time dressed as a vampire, his face painted white, his lips bulging around fake, plastic fangs. He's wearing a white, collared shirt with a cape wrapped around his neck. He carries around a yellow, plastic pumpkin, sets it on the table.

"Did you get lots of candy, Jinyoung?" his mother asks from the side. Jinyoung climbs into the chair.

"I don't even like candy," Jinyoung mumbles, though he looks happy, bright. He stares into the camera, waves timidly.

"Did you like going trick-or-treating with your friends?"

Jinyoung just nods, still looking at the camera. Adult Jinyoung has to look away, his stomach tight with nostalgia, with wonder, with every emotion that reminds him of how much time has passed. He doesn't remember this exact memory but he remembers that time in his life: confusing and exciting, full of pain, of pleasure, everything a discovery.

"Did they like your costume?"

Jinyoung nods again, and just like the last video, he covers his cheeks, as if hiding.

"Did you invite them to your birthday party next month?"

Again, he nods, hides behind his fingers, his eyes never leaving the camera lens. Then his mother walks into view, holds Jinyoung's head in her hands, plants a kiss on his head.

The next video is of a field with a track wrapped around it.

"Look dad, that's Jaebum in front — make sure you get it," Jaebum's mother says.

The camera zooms in, flails around a little before finally landing on the two boys leading a race. Each of them wear white shirts, orange shorts, and Jinyoung has a hard time figuring out which is Jaebum until his mother says, "That's him in the lead — he's going to win — look, he's right in front!"

One boy leads the race, the other falling more and more behind. Other than them, though, the rest of the boys are so behind they have no hope of winning the race. Then the boy in second place falls and the audience gasps. Jaebum, blurry, out of focus, stops running and turns around. He sees the boy on the ground and rushes back to him.

"No — no, baby, go back later — come on, keep running."

Then Jaebum's grandfather's voice floods in, "Let him be."

The boy on the ground is grabbing his ankle and Jaebum helps him up, but he doesn't put an arm under his like Jinyoung expects. Instead he stands him up and turns around. He puts the boy's arms around his neck, squats down, wraps his legs around his waist and Jaebum starts running again, his competition on his back.

His grandfather starts to laugh and his mother groans, "Every single time."

Now, the other boys have caught up, but Jaebum is still fast. He doesn't make first, but him and the boy make second and third place. The boy who won starts jumping and cheering and Jaebum sets down the boy on the side of the track, always gentle, careful. Then he lifts his hands and gives the boy a two-handed high-five.

By the time he reaches the last tape, the sun starts to peek out. The room lights up with an impending dawn, everything stuck between shadows and a deep blue. Jinyoung is surprised by this, surprised that there is a world outside of the tapes, that there is a world to be lived. He suddenly feels exhausted, not from a sleepless night, but from having to live in the world, having to go through another day, another routine. Hasn't he lived enough? Can't he simply lay down, think over what's happened, make sense of it first before he has to go on?

Then the last video starts to play and Jinyoung loses his breath.

At first the screen is empty save for a bed, a blank room that reminds him of the guest room he's sitting in. Then he sees himself, a little older than the last video, though still lanky, full-faced. He walks over to sit on the edge of the bed: his posture curves, his hands rest on his knees, just like adult Jinyoung is sitting. Child Jinyoung is silent for some time and Jinyoung has the sensation of them staring at each other, taking stock; reviewing their lives. He wonders what child Jinyoung would think of him, thirty-four, watching home videos all night, trying not to wallow about time lost, time wasted.

Then child Jinyoung smiles.

"Hello, future. I am Park Jinyoung, I'm recording this for our class time capsule."

Jinyoung isn't sure of when he starts crying, though he figures it's the time between seeing himself fidget and play with his fingers on the screen to folding his arms, trying to smile again and again and again. He remembers practicing his smile so much, wondering if friends and happiness and a good life were hidden in the folds of a perfect smile. As if he mastered the act of looking happy, he would be happy in return.

"I am supposed to say what I want to be when I grow up..." child Jinyoung trails off, then slides off the bed and walks out of the scene. Then a door closes, and Jinyoung comes back, closer to the camera this time. He drags a chair to sit closer, and this time he talks lower, as if embarrassed.

"Nobody is supposed to watch the videos except their own. My teacher said to be honest," he pauses, chews his lips, "She said to talk to ourselves fifteen years from now.

"So, Jinyoung, you are twenty-six. You just finished filming your first movie, congratulations. It will be the first movie you directed, but you have written so many — you even have a franchise to your name. You are so popular and handsome, people love you — you have so many friends and you have money, but you don't spend all of it, you give it away and, um —"

Little by little, layer by layer, child Jinyoung opens up, like a flower pulling apart its petals to let all the sunlight in, something dazzling to see. Child Jinyoung seems to glow through the screen and Jinyoung, watching him, cries even harder.

"You have a hot boyfriend who's really smart and both of you make movies but you don't want to get married because you're focusing on your career. And you don't even have to drive a car because you hire people to drive cars for you and you have someone who cooks food for you and, um, your boyfriend also cooks when he wants to be romantic.

"And you have so many books, like too many books, but you have read them all because you have all this time in between movies. Mom and dad don't even have to work anymore because you are paying for their everything and you have a few close friends that you meet up with on the weekends and you guys talk about movies and books and you are never alone. You are never, ever, ever alone and you are always smiling and you are never sad.

"Everyone loves you a lot and you love them because you belong. And, and, and you have a cool TV — you travel a lot and you live by the beach and every day you go out to the sand to get inspired. Then maybe you are getting an award — you're getting ready to get an award right now! Your smart boyfriend is typing something up, but he's hot so he never wears a shirt. Um, also — you wear suits all the time, and you don't get nervous, and you are happy, so, so happy. And —"

The video cuts off, as if the tape is damaged and on the screen, Jinyoung sees himself as a child, stuck mid-sentence with a bright smile, brighter eyes, bright with the glowing possibility of the future. Then he makes himself out against the reflection of the TV screen. The room keeps getting brighter, and though Jinyoung wants nothing more than to wipe his cheeks dry, to lean back and fall into bed and sleep for days, he stands up.

Each video keeps playing at the back of his head, all at once, and it feels so overwhelming and exciting just the same; he's terrified but happy; he's suffering but in bliss. Child him was so certain that everything would be so different, that from one year to the next the world would smile down on him, that he would have changed for the better; that he wouldn't be shy anymore; that he would be outgoing and successful and nothing less than happy.

But life is unpredictable, folds open and crumbles and rips like paper. It falls apart in some ways, comes together in others. Life has left him gasping and breathless and clinging to the few certainties in life: he loves Jaebum, loves his family, his friends. But beyond this, he isn't sure; and even his love goes to sleep at times, flickers off for hours, for days, makes him unsure of himself. And now, every road he never took, every path he never chose, comes rushing back, reminds him of possible mistakes, possible missteps. He doubts, suddenly, everything.

Jaebum is still sleeping in bed, but Jinyoung does not wake him up. He finds his phone on his desk, then leaves the room, steps around the boxes in the hallway, heads into the kitchen where their cups still live in a small carton.

He checks the time, then searches his contacts, finds the number he wants then makes the call he's sure he'll regret making, but will regret less than having never made it at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slowly getting back itno the swing of things ,,,

"Stop recording this part," Jinyoung's mother says but the camera just shakes, then Jinyoung's father's voice comes out.

"I — I don't know how."

Jinyoung, at five years old, is the focus of the shot. He wears Mickey Mouse ears, a Mickey Mouse shirt, even Mickey Mouse sunglasses but despite the smiling mice on him, Jinyoung is crying.

He does more than cry, though, he sobs: his face is a deep red, his mouth hangs open and wails pour out like water. His hand is raised, grips a cone tightly and next to him, near his shoes, is a white glob of vanilla ice-cream on the floor. Jinyoung's mother tries to get close but Jinyoung stomps his feet and coughs before another wave of sobbing trembles through his tiny bones.

The scene finally cuts to the next. Jinyoung has stopped crying, though he isn't smiling. His mother sits next to him on a bench, relieved. She looks at the camera and shrugs, then smiles.

Jinyoung is licking carefully at a scoop of strawberry ice-cream. He looks serious, concentrated, and his mother does not bother him, as if afraid he might start shrieking again.

"Do you like it?" his father asks. Jinyoung just nods quickly, then goes back to licking. He looks at the camera and for a second his face twists, and he looks like he's about to cry, but then his eyes catch sight of the scoop and he goes back to licking, the skin around his lips getting messy with pink smears.

* * *

He quits without telling anyone other than the department director — he figures it would be premature. That "indefinite leave" insinuates the possibility of returning, that he's somehow kept that door open, but he knows, sitting in his study, playing with paper in his hands, that he won't be returning.

He isn't sure if he's actually relieved that he isn't a professor anymore, that he'll wake up every day from then on and realize that he's made the right choice, or if it's the simple relief of not having to work. Then he remembers Jaebum, how pained he is not working, not having somewhere to go every day, his routine scattered and inconsistent, and he feels a tiny pinch of guilt in his chest. He should have talked to him about it — they should have discussed this, Jinyoung should have been more grateful to have a job in the first place.

He groans, then sighs, then watches his phone light up for the fifth time. He didn't tell anyone he quit but somehow Youngjae and Mark have found out because this is the fifth call, the third voicemail they leave. He hasn't even told Jaebum, and that is what he's most afraid of. Again, the guilt returns because Jaebum will be supportive — he might not understand, might even envy the choice he has of whether to work or not — and here Jinyoung is, fearing his reaction.

With a sigh, he turns the paper over and over — the invitation to speak at an upcoming film conference — as if he sees the words upside down or sideways, they might tell him what to do. It's silly to think that most of his future had been grounded on this seminar; that this was the first step to a long, fruitful career in academia; that this had been what he had been working towards for years. Just this simple piece of paper, folded in thirds, nothing more than a letter — he could rip it if he wants, so his fingers fold around the top, but when he goes to tear it, he notices Jaebum at the door.

Jaebum only peeks inside, his head and shoulders visible but nothing else. He looks like a child, his hair soft and swept to one side by gravity, his eyes wide, his tiny mouth pushed together in a thoughtful pucker.

"Yes?" Jinyoung asks, wonders if Jaebum has heard his thoughts — has always wondered if Jaebum can read his mind, especially now when his eyes are clear and thoughtful, as if he knows something Jinyoung doesn't.

"I took out the trash," Jaebum says. His lips hint at a smile that never arrives.

"Okay, good," Jinyoung says, then nods. They stare at one another for a few seconds before Jaebum nods his head, too, and disappears back into the hallway.

Jinyoung goes back to running his fingers over the text of the invitation. He can still go, he thinks, since he's been invited as an academic — a scholar of film — and not just as a faculty member. It's only a few cities over, too, so he can drive, maybe him and Jaebum can have a vacation.

Or maybe, he thinks, he needs to completely abandon his old life to build a new one. What else could he do? He could write a script, he could start filming a movie. He could finish those books he never had a chance to, the ones he'd abandoned in favor of reading more film theory, preparing himself for this life of watching and writing and hearing others speak and writing about that, too. So much writing, so much thinking, so much producing content that never had a heart. How did others not get tired of writing about someone else's ideas? Someone else's work? Wasn't there ever an itch to create?

He sighs again, and, determined to jump headfirst into a new life, he goes to rip the paper in half but he notices Jaebum again, in the same position, his head and shoulders cut off abruptly by the door-frame.

"What is it?" he asks but Jaebum just stares at him with that same expectant look as before, his eyes open wide and rounded. Then Jaebum shakes his head.

"Nothing," he says and disappears and Jinyoung's eyes fall back to the invitation.

Maybe he'll go, he thinks. A final hurrah to his life in academia. It'll be like attending his own funeral, he's sure, and although macabre, it would make him feel better. Or maybe it'll be the final chance to change his mind. What if he likes standing up on stage? What if he genuinely enjoys teaching? Can he enjoy more than one thing? Why does he have to choose? Why does everything take so much time?

These latest frustrations make him want to cry, so he sets the paper down and sighs and rubs his face with his hands. He sits back on his chair and closes his eyes and stretches and yawns — he's still tired from not sleeping, but the stress of not knowing how to proceed, the stress of knowing he's just burnt a bridge he can't rebuild, keeps him up.

After a minute, he decides to call his mom. She'll know, he thinks, what's best for her son. His eyes open and he reaches for his phone and he notices Jaebum again. This time his eyes look both expectant and worried, as if he's forgotten to mention something. Jinyoung chews on his lip, waits for Jaebum to say something but instead they watch each other in silence. Jaebum shows no sign of speaking, or even moving, and Jinyoung wonders if standing twisted to the side like that is painful.

If it is, Jaebum's face doesn't betray him. Except for the gaze, his expression is vacant — it almost looks like he's fallen asleep with his eyes open.

He waits for as long as his patience allows him, which isn't much; even if he feels bad about it, he gets annoyed, crosses his arms, which makes Jaebum wince, finally.

"What? Why are you staring at me?!"

He watches Jaebum tense, then swallow, then sigh, resigned.

"Are you mad at me?"

Almost instantly, Jinyoung's body relaxes. Again, the guilt returns, stronger this time. He's shaking his head before he's taken another breath.

"Of course not, why would you think that?"

Jaebum finally steps into the doorway and Jinyoung notices that besides the shirt he's wearing, the rest of him is naked and exposed. He isn't even wearing underwear — just a single baggy shirt, white, almost transparent. Jaebum looks down at his hands, starts to wring his fingers together.

It's always surprising to see Jaebum be nervous, chilling almost, like watching his boyfriend become possessed by a stranger. This loud presence suddenly shoved into this small, nervous body. Even his size seems to shrink down to match his moods. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and his voice seems to hide in his throat, comes out as a mumble.

"I don't know, you usually say you love me and thank me when I take out the trash and you didn't this time and you keep sighing and muttering things I just figured, you know, maybe you wanted a day off and..." he trails off, still playing with his fingers but his eyes look up.

"I'm not — that was for something else, Jaebum. I'm not mad at you, I'm just stressed out." He sighs in relief and his lips settle into a smile. Jaebum's worry starts to fade from his expression.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Jaebum stands up straight, now, and grins and starts to walk towards Jinyoung but pauses again.

"Are you sure, sure?"

"Yes, I'm double sure. I love you and thank you for taking out the trash."

Then Jaebum walks his way, around the desk, pushes Jinyoung's chair back and settles into his lap sideways. He wraps his arms loosely around Jinyoung's neck and kisses the hair on the top of his head.

"I love you, too," Jaebum says.

And once he's sitting in Jinyoung's lap, the fact that he's naked is hard to ignore. Jinyoung rests a hand on his thigh, feels the warmth beneath his fingers.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

Jaebum looks down at his legs, then wiggles his toes.

"In case you were mad."

"And this would help?"

Jaebum shrugs, then twists his lips into that cocky little smirk that changes his entire face; his eyes darken, keep that playful glint and nothing else.

"Of course," he says, "I would be like: are you mad at me? And you would be like: yes. And I would be like: I'll do anything for you, Jinyoung, please don't be mad, here is my body for you to use. And then you would stand up all mad and slam your fists against your desk and I would get on my knees and then you would tell me to come to your side of the desk and then you would use my body, babe, you'd get all your anger out."

Jinyoung is blushing by the time Jaebum stops talking.

"That's not — how would I — why do you think that?!"

"I don't know, babe," he shrugs, then takes Jinyoung's wrist and pulls his it higher on his legs, traps his hand with his thighs. Then he squeezes them together and Jinyoung's stomach fills with warm flutters. "I just had a feeling you were going to see me and be, like, 'we're smashing on sight,' you know?"

He still has that cocky smirk on his lips and Jinyoung tries his best not to look up at it, or below where Jaebum, as always, is somehow hard already, as if the suggestion of sex is enough for his body to prepare. He glances, instead, at the invitation on his desk and says, "Do you want to take a roadtrip? I have a conference — a few cities over. We can take a weekend and drive there."

At first, Jaebum says nothing, and neither of them move. Jinyoung doesn't look up at him but he feels Jaebum's pulse in his thigh, or imagines he does; it hides beneath a layer of smooth, warm skin. This, he decides, he can look at: the squarish muscle of his thighs, pressing against flesh; the tan-lines showing how high his soccer shorts go.

Then Jaebum starts to tremble, at least appears to. His thighs uncross, Jinyoung lifts his hands, looks up at Jaebum and his eyes are closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, his throat trembling — the sound is somewhere between a gurgle and a hum.

"Are you... purring?"

But Jaebum does not answer. He simply opens his eyes and stands up, leans over to kiss Jinyoung's cheek once, his nose once, then his forehead.

"I'm improvising — I was thinking, maybe I can be an actor, you know? Maybe some porn at first, but I think I could definitely do something else if I get better — to get better, you have to practice. Success is a habit, you know? You said that, babe, at least I think you did. You're always saying things like that," Jaebum says, and with each word his smile gets wider, more reckless, and for the first time in months, Jinyoung notices how the room becomes bright, as if Jaebum were glowing. Just like the first time they'd met — just like now, two years later.

He feels a smile grow on his lips, even as he shakes his head.

"You're too much," he says and Jaebum beams.

"I'm big, too, huh?"

Jaebum puts his hands on his hips, tilts them forward but Jinyoung refuses to look down at his crotch. Even if his face gets red, his palms sweaty. Even if Jaebum thins his eyes and smirks and gives him what he's labeled his 'sexy face,' Jinyoung doesn't give in.

"You're not big."

"I'm not big?" Jaebum quirks up a brow, but he's still amused, endlessly so. "I'm not big, but I'm average, huh?"

He steps closer and Jinyoung swallows. He nods.

"Yes, average."

"I'm average but you like it, huh?"

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, but nods despite himself. His voice is small when he says, "Yes."

"You like how it fits just right, huh?" Jaebum reaches down, takes Jinyoung's hand and puts it on his groin. By instinct, Jinyoung's fingers wrap around Jaebum's cock, but he does not pull, he does not tug, he does not rub, just lets his fingers rest there. Jaebum twitches against his palm.

He swallows again — Jaebum is close enough that Jinyoung's head is tipped up, watching him. If he looks down, if he just leans forward an inch, it would press against his lips. But he doesn't give Jaebum the satisfaction, not yet — he figures he can be playful, too. Teasing. Can make Jaebum work for anything more than his touch. Even if his mouth waters, even if a lump forms at his throat. Even if his pulse quickens when Jaebum twitches in his hand again.

He manages a nod, nothing else.

Jaebum is looking down at him, his eyes barely open — the angle making his frame look even larger.

"You like how it fits, babe, huh? It's average but you feel so tiny on it, huh? I fill you up, huh? Do you like that? Do you like feeling stuffed?"

As he talks, Jaebum reaches forward with his hands. He does not pull Jinyoung's head, but rather places a finger on each corner of his mouth. He slides them in as he talks, slowly, first one, then two on each side. He pulls on Jinyoung's lips so his mouth hangs open, so that his tongue is flat, so that his jaw is loose and Jinyoung can only manage a tiny, warbled sound when Jaebum leans in closer.

Then the doorbell rings and they both freeze. Jaebum's fingers are still in Jinyoung's mouth, holding it open, his lips pulled apart as if Jaebum were checking his teeth and Jaebum is still standing, his hips cocked forward, his erection throbbing and red but the doorbell rings again, demands their attention.

Jaebum's eyes widen, not with fear, but with excitement.

"That must be the new hat I ordered for tonight's dinner," he says, whispering.

Jinyoung tries to ask something, but with an open mouth nothing makes sense. He finally pulls away and Jaebum's fingers slip from his lips.

"What dinner?"

"We're having dinner, remember? French restaurant? The one you always wanted to go to but it was expensive and the waiting list was months long and you didn't want to wait that long and spend that much money but then I had that daycare with Jackson and one of the kids we took care of is the son of a hostess there and she had a cancellation and she gave us that spot? Remember? I told you last week."

And the thing is, he does remember; but somehow it had been buried behind the stress of watching the tapes, of quitting his job, of Jaebum's cock so near his mouth that his stomach aches with a desire to just tip his head and swallow it until it slams against the back of his throat. But he never gets the chance. Jaebum steps back.

"I better go get it," he says and steps back and runs to the door and into the hallway. He disappears to the right, then reemerges running to the left, jumping on one foot as he tries to pull on baggy sweatpants and Jinyoung is left alone in his study, still on his swiveling chair, an erection throbbing between his legs. His hand is still in the air, and he puts it down, closes his mouth, has to wipe some spit that had dribbled to his chin with the back of his hand.

He sighs, then hears Jaebum stumble over a box, hears the swish of paper covering the floor.

"I'm okay, babe!" Jaebum shouts and Jinyoung hears the front door open in the distance and he can't help but smile at his good fortune. Even with the invitation still on his desk, staring at him, wanting to torture him some more with indecision, Jinyoung can't focs on it. He can only think of Jaebum, of the package ripped open in the distance, of his 'oohs' and 'aahs' as he tries on his hat, of the future that lays in front of him.

So much will happen, he thinks, and with Jaebum, at least, he can take it one step at a time.

—

The next step is that night at the restaurant. It turns out to be one of his favorites, after all, or what Jinyoung has assumed will be his favorite. He's never eaten there, has never even stepped inside, but he is giddy to try. He wears slacks, his most expensive belt, a black shirt, even a thin, gold chain as if he had to prove to the restaurant that he were worthy. He wears his gold watch, too, the one his father had given him when he'd graduated college, and one look in the mirror and he feels classy enough.

He also feels light with joy, as if he is made of air and pure light, held together by this flimsy outer layer of skin. He's sure that if he were to slice into it, the light would leak out like lava, that it would hiss and smoke and glow.

He's so happy that he doesn't even bother to tell Jaebum to put on a different outfit. He lets him wear sneakers, baggy jeans, a baggier shirt, and that new yellow beanie he'd worn all afternoon. All of his earrings dangle and glimmer on his ears, and Jinyoung reaches over to touch them when Jaebum drives them to the restaurant.

"Are you excited, babe?"

And Jinyoung can only nod. This must be a sign from the universe that he's headed in the right direction — he imagines another timeline, another Jinyoung that didn't quit, that had never found the tapes. He would be teaching class right now, he thinks, and even the thought of going out to a restaurant would be unbearable. He would be exhausted, would come home to eat whatever Jaebum had ordered after burning their dinner again, and then he would go straight to bed.

This must be a gift from fate, and he thinks this when they arrive, when they step inside the restaurant and a man is playing a piano in the center of the room and the people around them reek of class and there are chandeliers. He walks slowly, breathes it all in, wonders if the rest of his life will unfold like this.

Once seated, Jinyoung is grinning, his posture neat and straight.

Jaebum, though, is hunched over the table, looks uncomfortable.

"I should have dressed nicer," he says, not to Jinyoung or anyone else, but to himself. He glances around, then takes off his beanie, puts it in his lap. Jinyoung doesn't have the heart to tell him that his hair is flat from the beanie, or that even if he ruffles it, it still lays limp. He doesn't tell him that a lock of it is pointed up, either, insistent on standing. Instead he reaches over the table and covers Jaebum's hand in his.

"You look fine," he says and they both share a smile, a tiny piece of sunlight in the dim room humming with quiet chatter, punctuated by the piano, by the clinks of silverware, by glasses bumping against glasses in what Jinyoung imagines to be an endless chain of toasts.

He squeezes Jaebum's hand and that's how the waiter finds them.

"Are we ready for drinks and starters?" he asks and Jinyoung reads through his menu, as does Jaebum.

The waiter doesn't smile, doesn't even look pleased to be there; as Jaebum hums, his gaze moving from item to item on the menu, the waiter gets impatient. He looks annoyed, his lips pursed, his glare directed at Jaebum.

Jinyoung, to give him some time, orders wine for them, then his own starter. Then all eyes return to Jaebum and he grins, a bit sheepishly.

"What are my options?"

The waiter doesn't roll his eyes, but he doesn't have to: the way he lists the starters in quick successions, in an exaggerated and snobby French accent is enough to send a message. He wants Jaebum to know that there are basic requirements to be served, that Jaebum, somehow, has snuck his way inside without meeting any of them, not even being able to read the most basic French dishes.

And, as if Jaebum would understand a second time, the waiter lists the items off again, even taps his foot. Jaebum just stares at him, his mouth hanging open, his head tilted; his eyes don't look at Jinyoung or the waiter or even the menu — instead they float around the roof, as if the answer were lodged into one of the chandeliers.

Jinyoung's stomach drops. After what feels like hours, Jaebum finally says something.

"Are any of those... like... fries?"

By now, the waiter just sighs, puts his little notepad down. He clicks his pen, slips it into his apron.

"There is a McDonald's across the street. You can find your fries there."

Without another word, the waiter leaves and Jinyoung hopes that Jaebum takes it lightheartedly. That Jaebum, usually aloof and confident and reckless and so unaware of what others might think, will think of it as a joke and smile but instead he sits at his seat, his back still bent forward, his eyes glued to the table. He looks like a child who has been reprimanded and Jinyoung's heart hurts, clenches like a fist. His chest tightens, he reaches over to find Jaebum's hand but it isn't there. Jaebum doesn't even move.

"Are you okay? That waiter's such an ass."

Jaebum nods, but still doesn't look up.

"It's fine," he says.

"It's not fine. Maybe I should complain."

Jaebum shakes his head, finally looks up. His eyes have a tiny glimmer — as if he'd been close to crying, as if he'd blinked the tears away and Jinyoung doesn't feel pain anymore, but anger. He feels his heart beat loudly, like an angry fist against his chest.

Maybe before he wouldn't have done anything, maybe before it would have been fine. But Jinyoung still feels that surge of power: he quit his job without a second thought, why would this be any different? He can't shake the thought of his face when he was younger, trapped in that video, so sure that things would turn out differently.

The world doesn't change, though, unless he changes it himself. So he shakes his head and Jaebum looks confused, then scared.

"I'm going to say something," Jinyoung says and Jaebum shakes his head.

"Jinyoung — please — this is a restaurant you like. It's fine." He tries to force a smile, but Jinyoung has spent hours — days, even — swooning over Jaebum's smiles to tell which are real, which are fake, and the one Jaebum holds between his lips doesn't come close to the usual brightness. He sees right through it.

Jinyoung pushes out his chair and stands up and looks for someone who looks important, looks for someone to complain to before this flash of adrenaline and protectiveness over his fiance passes. Before he's left stranded in a sea of French bossa nova without direction, without a will to continue.

But no one looks more important than the others, not in the state Jinyoung is in, not when impulse has taken over and he's walking before he has a direction. He wanders aimlessly at first, follows the loudest conversation, then follows the shutter of kitchen doors, then the voice of the hostess, then, finally, the sound of the music.

In a few minutes, he's next to the piano and the man playing only glances up at him, gives him a tiny smile. There's a tip jar there, and a microphone, and Jinyoung reaches into his back-pocket for his wallet. He still isn't thinking when he shoves a few bills into the jar, or when the man nods at him, or when he reaches over and takes the microphone and taps it with his fingers so the music fades with a few thumps.

"Hello?" he says into it and half the restaurant turns to look at him. The other half ignores him until he says, again, "Hello? Is this thing on?"

Near the kitchen, he sees a waiter pause, then stare, then rush back into the kitchen, probably alerting the important person Jinyoung was looking for but it's too late now. He's taken it into his own hands. He looks for his table and finds Jaebum there, turned around in his chair, watching everything unfold with his small mouth rounded and surprised.

"Hey, everyone. I'm Jinyoung."

The piano player stops playing, stands up, rests a hand against Jinyoung's shoulder but he shrugs it off.

"I'm Jinyoung and I have something to say: the service here sucks."

Some people stop eating and look his way. Others try to ignore him. Some woman on the other side cheers him on.

"Waiters can't even pronounce proper French, the menu is stereotypical and bland. The wines aren't even worth the wait."

A pair of men in suits step out of the kitchen and the waiter points at him and they start to approach so Jinyoung steps away from the piano, tries to get out of their way but the men are fast. There's only the piano between them so Jinyoung goes right whenever the men do, then left, then back and weaves through the tables.

"The security isn't even good — they can't catch me. This restaurant is — pardon my French — _merde_."

This gets a few chuckles, and when Jinyoung puts enough distance between him and the men, he looks back at his table where Jaebum is biting back a giggle as he holds his phone out, recording the whole thing. In that brief moment, even across the room, Jaebum looks his way and smiles and Jinyoung smiles back and he remembers the reason he's running away from the men currently trying to kick him out of the more exclusive French cuisine restaurant in town.

"Tonight my fiance bought a very cute beanie for this very special date and I would like everyone to know I love him. Clap if you know I love him."

Silence. Something overtakes him, then, something he hasn't felt in years: freedom. He doesn't think of what others might think of him, he doesn't think of what consequences this might bring, he doesn't think of what bridges are being burnt or what doors are being closed because there's always a window he can climb through. That's what the child him could never understand: life is not a series of doors, or neat entrances and exits. Life is a string of stuffy rooms he wants to escape, life is windows he has to jump through, walls he has to break down, tunnels he has to dig himself.

Life is making an airtight life-plan and a list to match and life is watching none of it come true. Life is watching it burn and fall apart and life is picking up the pieces and trying again and it's been so long since he's taken a risk, it's been so long since he's let his heart decide what to do next, all of his instincts dulled by the droning security of a job and a salary and a standard dream of a little house with a fence and a shiny career.

"I said clap you pretentious ass —"

One man snatches the microphone and the other grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him back and in the silence that follows, he can hear only one sound: a single person clapping, excitedly.

Not more than five minutes later, they're being escorted out of the restaurant.

For once, Jinyoung doesn't blush, but he has to bite back the laughter that flutters in his chest and rises in his throat and threatens to spill as one of the suited men reprimands them quietly, telling them they are banned, that they aren't even allowed back on the premises. Jinyoung and Jaebum keep exchanging looks, though, and he feels like he's a schoolboy again, amused by the smallest acts of defiance.

In the lobby, after giving their names, they run into Jackson and Mark.

Jackson is wearing a buttoned shirt tucked into slacks and Mark is fussing over the undone buttons at the collar, muttering about how he should have worn a tie, that the restaurant demands a little more effort. Jaebum spots them first, steps in front of their path.

"Did you guys wait long — sorry we're late," Jackson says and Jinyoung and Jaebum share a look, then a tiny giggle.

"We won't be eating with you guys," Jinyoung says and both Jackson and Mark look confused. Mark, especially, looks angry.

"We had a lot to talk about, though," Mark says, his voice simmering with anger.

Jinyoung shrugs, then Jaebum says, "We got kicked out."

"Banned, really," Jinyoung says, leans in closer, whispers, "For life."

And this sets off Jaebum laughing, then Jinyoung laughs, too, and Jackson even chuckles while Mark looks between them, shaking his head, his eyebrows pushed together in a bout of confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you later," Jinyoung says, then takes Jaebum's hand. "Maybe tomorrow. Right now we have to go to McDonald's — I'm starving."

Jinyoung leads Jaebum away from Mark and Jackson and the waiters and the restaurant and the crowd that has lost itself in a portrait of impossible lives, a crowd that doesn't live itself but mimics what it thinks living is. A crowd not worthy of Jaebum, his smile, so rare these days, as bright as gems.

—

The night comes to a close with Jaebum and Jinyoung in bed, stripped down to their underwear. Jinyoung has eaten his share of fries and yogurt and Jaebum has eaten a burger and two happy meals — one had not been enough, he'd said, because the toys were so cool, toys he was getting for Hyunjin, though Jinyoung knew they'd end up propped up on a shelf, displayed like treasure.

Their legs tangle like old times, and though Jinyoung's eyelashes are heavy with sleep, as if exhaustion has clustered in them like dew, he fights the urge to close them. He stays awake, even if to enjoy the sight of Jaebum in his bed, not preparing to leave for the guest room, but there with him, just a breath away, just a kiss away. It's been so long, he thinks, and there is no doubt that this is one of his childhood dreams fulfilled, that Jaebum is someone he loves, that Jaebum loves him.

And Jaebum, as if tuned into his line of thinking, can't stop kissing Jinyoung's cheeks or his forehead or his nose or his ears or even the top of his head, and Jinyoung feels smaller each time, smaller and loved and awed by how much emotion Jaebum holds.

"You were so cool, babe," Jaebum says with a sigh, finally stops kissing Jinyoung to pull him close. Their hips meet, their thighs come together, latch like puzzle pieces. Jaebum's hands roam over Jinyoung's side, one sneaks back to rest against the curve of his bottom, warm shapes that make Jinyoung feel at peace.

"Nobody gets to treat you like that," he says, now embarrassed of what he's done. He whispers, as if afraid to admit it, "Not my fiance."

Jaebum stares at him for a second, his eyes fixed and focused and Jinyoung feels small, smaller when he sees himself in the dark of Jaebum's eyes, reflected, tiny black mirrors. Then Jaebum leans forward for a single kiss on the lips, which he follows up with a peck, then kisses him again before he pulls back.

"It's time to sleep," he says and for a second Jinyoung fears that Jaebum is saying goodnight. That he'll stand up and get ready for bed in the guest room and Jinyoung will have to sleep alone another night while Jaebum stays up writing or watching movies or playing games. But Jaebum doesn't budge.

Jinyoung holds his breath, tries to memorize this moment in case it ends: the warm shape of Jaebum's thighs between his, the feel of his hand groping his bottom, the fingers brushing against the side of his ribs and Jaebum's eyes, rounded and dark and beautiful.

Then Jaebum says, "Tell me a story."

"A story?"

"Yeah, a story so we can sleep."

"Am I your babysitter?"

Jaebum looks away, thinks for a moment. Then he bites his lip, then nods.

"That's kind of hot, babe."

They both chuckle at this and Jinyoung pushes Jaebum's hair back, combs it between his fingers.

"What kind of story do you want me to tell you?"

"A good one."

"But what about?"

"About us — about you, a prince."

"And who do you want to be?"

Jinyoung smooths his fingers over Jaebum's eyebrows, then over the lines forming on his forehead.

"A cool guy."

"A prince and a cool guy?"

"That's us, babe. Make it good — make me really strong."

"And me?"

"Prissy and cute," he says, "Stuck-up, but in love with me."

"Just like real life?"

"Just like real life," Jaebum says, then grins, "Please?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, please."

And so Jinyoung sighs, takes a second to think, and then begins.

"Alright, there's a prince —"

"No, babe, you have to say 'once upon a time' or else, I don't know, it doesn't feel right."

Jinyoung sighs again and Jaebum pouts so he begins the story.

"Once upon a time, there was a prince..."


End file.
